"I have blazed the trail; others will follow" Cezanne said.
It's rare to find painters like the neo-impressionists, who have such a clear idea of what they want; rarely have artists felt so strongly the urge to put their ideas on-paper...or like bloggers on-line?
There were to be no vague perceptions recorded approximately with "random brush strokes", Signac said to sum up. She used to try to blur her eyes in hope that she could catch the sun at the right angle on her plasma monitor...but it was of no use.
Random keystrokes were what overcame that usual 9-to-5 afternoon.
She was working on a spreadsheet.
This was not a canvas. This was not the theatre.
And she was not her mother yawning as she ironed...cursing the wrinkles out from her bedsheets.
The housework had degenerated her and led to vice. However I must point that out.
Neither the tree of knowledge nor the serpent exist in her world.
Something of paradise remains about her, even when she types, even when she puts on her finely stitched satin black dress, or when she has painted her finest art.
All the same, the fevers of passion. They are before us in the state of innocence of a quiet animal life.
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